


Sweetest of Napes

by NaughtyBees



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Horror, M/M, Requited Love, Vampires, vampire Arthur Morgan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29808183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyBees/pseuds/NaughtyBees
Summary: After a strange encounter with a man who claims he's a vampire, Arthur finds himself displaying some very odd symptoms.
Relationships: Albert Mason & Arthur Morgan, Albert Mason/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	1. Bite

_**I feed again** _   
_**the blood of life** _   
_**the circle has begun** _

The sun hurt Arthur's eyes as it shone through the window in the Bastille Saloon. He recoiled from it, grunting and fumbling for his hat, pulling it over his face as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.  
He'd only been able to afford one night there, as it was stupidly pricey, but that didn't matter. He would set up camp after he'd been to the gallery, as he'd promised Charles Châtenay he'd visit his exhibition.

The smell of food cooking as he walked downstairs repulsed him for some reason, even though he knew it should smell nice, as his stomach was griping. He figured it must have been off. He squinted against the light as he stepped outside, unhitching Bruce, his black shire. As he rode from the shadow to the sunlight, his skin felt tight and painful, and he grumbled, wondering if his new shirt had been rubbing him in his sleep. Oh, well. He'd feel better after laughing at some art.

The shade of the Galerie Laurent was welcome, and he sighed quietly as he took a seat on the stairs, having to take a moment. He felt a little sick, his face gaunt, his hands cold. Fumbling in his satchel, he pulled out a tonic and his journal, drinking it as he flicked through. He found the entry about that weird lunatic that had said he was a vampire. Heh. He was no more a vampire than Arthur was. It had made Arthur uncomfortable when he'd bitten his arm, but he'd sloshed some whiskey over it so hopefully he wouldn't get an infection, considering he had been chewing on some poor bastard's neck.

Once he felt the tonic working, his body feeling a little stronger, he stood and pocketed his journal, walking upstairs.  
The first thing he saw when he walked through the door made him almost feel sick again. A photograph of himself. He stared at it, eyes wide, glancing at a card nailed below it. 'A lonely cowboy - The Decline of The Wild by Albert Mason.'

"Lonely?" Arthur wondered aloud, folding his arms.

"Well, maybe a little lonely." A familiar voice said from behind him. "But that only adds to your charm."

Arthur smiled to himself. "You utter, utter bastard." He muttered. "Didn't even think you took the photo, Mason. Never thought you'd want my ugly mug up with all your pretty animals." Turning to look at Albert, he smiled at him, eyes glancing up and down his perfectly tailored suit. It was a strange change from his usual outfit. The word that came to Arthur's mind shocked him a little, wondering where it came from. Edible.

"Well, I could hardly-- good lord!" Albert seemed to jump slightly as he looked at Arthur. "Are you okay? You're so pale."

Arthur shrugged. "Little under the weather, but I'll be okay, don't fret." He moved to look at the photograph of the wolves, Albert following him. "These really came out good."

"All thanks to you! I'm glad you came to see them." Albert seemed to fidget with his puff tie nervously. "I wasn't sure you would." He took a glass of champagne from a nearby plate and offered it to Arthur. He accepted it, but the smell of it made him even more nauseous, so he simply held it to be polite.

"Ah, well, I did say I'd see Mr Châtenay's exhibition too." Arthur muttered, purposefully avoiding the golden beam of sunlight filtering through a window in order to look at the next photograph. "Huh. I know a lot of artists."

Albert smiled and nudged him gently. "Well, you can count yourself amongst them, at least." He glanced toward Arthur's satchel. The last time they had met, during one of their brief chance encounters, Arthur had let Albert look at his animal map, and the photographer's keen eye had spotted one of his sketches. Immediately, he had dissolved into eager complements, begging to see more. "I only wish you'd allow me to peruse that journal of yours. If only to see your eye for perspective and form."

"Not a chance, Mr Mason." Arthur almost growled, making the smaller man shrink back slightly. Damn it. He was quite the intimidating presence, and he didn't want to frighten Albert, as the man had been nothing but kind to him. Slumping his shoulders to seem smaller, he passed the champagne in his hand to him. "Maybe you can commission me instead? I'll give you friend prices."

"Oh, don't tempt me, Mr Morgan." Albert returned to his bright smile. "I'd have you draw the world for me."

Arthur's raised brow made him flush pink, and the outlaw chuckled quietly as he turned to walk into Charles's exhibition.  
Seeing the weasely little painter beaten by a lady's handbag was probably the funniest thing he'd seen in months, and he could hardly contain himself as he helped the painter to his feet. The frigid idiots of Saint Denis obviously objected to his study - as they were practically 16th century when it came to attitudes - but they were quite pretty paintings. Arthur didn't really have time to study them, however, as he found he had to protect Charles from the affronted gallery patrons.  
Albert seemed to want to intervene, but when one of the offended gentlemen threw a fist that Arthur dodged, he yelped and leapt behind a painting, watching with fearful eyes.

Despite how ill he felt, Arthur surprised himself with how easy it was to lift one of the men by his lapels, throwing him across the room. The man screamed as he collided with another of the angry onlookers, the pair smashing their heads together, both unconscious. His strength shocked him, but he reckoned it was just the adrenaline.  
The third swung for Arthur, and although it connected, it didn't hurt as much as he expected, and he shrugged it off, his own fists making a mess of the man's face. Usually, beating someone to a pulp was second nature for him, but this time it was different. The smell of blood, so commonplace in his line of work, made his head swim and his throat burn. He stood over the unconscious dandy, looking at his bloody knuckles, trying to blink away his double vision.  
Albert's concerned voice was far away, echoing, and he lifted his hand to his mouth. His tongue swiped over his skin of its own volition, and the sweet taste of a stranger's blood was crippling. He wanted to do something, something vicious, but he had no idea what. He could see himself ripping the man below him to shreds, but that thought was disjointed and subconscious, like a dream half remembered. It itched, and he hated it.

And then the world was black, the floor rushing up to meet him with a painful thud.

Starry sky stretched above him, close enough to touch, the full moon like an unblinking eye suspended in velvet blue. The light faded, being obscured by the crunch and schling of a shovel, and he choked. He couldn't breathe. Dirt was in his eyes, in his mouth, in his lungs. Buried alive. He tried to scream, to struggle, to tell the gravedigger that he was alive, he was alive. But he couldn't. He couldn't. Couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Was he alive? Was he?

He gasped sharply, cold sweat clinging to him, and felt something cool draw away from his forehead. Reaching down to his hip, he realised with a stab of anxiety that he was unarmed. His eyes stung as he peeled them open, the evening light making him hiss through his teeth. Albert held a concerned crease in his brow as he shushed him in a comforting manner, returning the wet rag to his forehead.  
"It's alright. You're safe, Mr Morgan." Albert muttered.

"Where am I?" Arthur croaked, moving to sit up, only until a gentle hand on his chest stopped him. He easily could've pushed it away, but he laid back against the pillows. "What happened?"

Albert set the rag aside and passed Arthur a glass of water, which he sipped with a slight cough. "You passed out after fighting those men. I couldn't carry you by myself, so I enlisted the help of one of my acquaintances to bring you to my apartment."

Arthur glanced around the room, and he found it suited Albert very well. Tasteful floral decorations, photographs on every surface, the tools of his trade haphazard around the room. And the bed…it smelled of him. Delicious.  
That thought made Arthur physically jolt, and he grit his teeth, swallowing hard. "I, uh…Thank you, Mr Mason. Sorry for being such a bother."

Waving a hand to dismiss the notion, Albert pushed a thermometer into Arthur's mouth. "Tish and pshaw, Mr Morgan. You would have to make me crawl over broken glass thrice over before we were close to even. It is no trouble whatsoever."

Arthur mumbled something, and Albert took the thermometer after a moment. "What's yer prognosis, doc?" Arthur rasped with a half-hearted smile.

Albert's eyebrows furrowed deeply. "Half an hour ago, you were feverish! But now…" He placed a hand to Arthur's forehead. "You feel almost dead. Dear me, this is worrying." He pulled the blankets around Arthur, reminding him of a nurse, and tucked him in.

"...Mr Mason, I really gotta go." Arthur muttered. He didn't want to. Of course he didn't want to. But he didn't want Dutch to send anyone after him.

"Not a chance. I'll lock the doors if I have to, but you're staying here to heal." Albert moved toward the table at the foot of the bed and picked up a tray, setting it down on Arthur. "Now, some nice chicken broth will set you on the road to recovery, so open wide."

The smell of it made Arthur feel queasy. "I ain't hungry." He muttered.

"Come on, I made it myself, it's quite delicious." Albert gave him wide puppy dog eyes that he couldn't resist, and he sighed heavily, opening his mouth.

The second the soup hit the back of his throat, Arthur flailed to sit up, snatching the bedpan and puking into it, making Albert squeak with surprise. Arthur caught sight of the contents of his throw up, and paled slightly. He'd have thought his dinner from the night before would've digested, but he could clearly see recognisable pieces still. Along with quite a bit of blood.

"...I rather think I am in over my head here." Albert's voice shook with fear for his friend, and he set the tray aside, taking Arthur's hand in his own. "It's a little late in the day for me to get a doctor, but I promise, I'll go fetch one first thing, alright?"

Arthur nodded weakly, settling back against the pillows. "Okay. Thank you, Mr Mason." He rasped. "Your soup was delicious, by the way."

Albert’s laugh was hollow, and he couldn't hide his worry as he took away the tray, then came back for the bedpan. As the sun began to set, Arthur felt the ache in his head subside, the buzz of the night making his skin and eyes feel a lot better, like a sunburn soothed in cool water. When Albert returned with some more water for him, Arthur sat up.  
"Could you help me to the balcony? I wanna have a cigarette, calm my nerves."

"I really don't think… Oh, alright." Albert offered Arthur a hand, and let him lean on him a little as they both stepped into the dark night, the sounds of the city thrumming in the gloom, the stone walls bearing the heat of the day. "Tell me if you start feeling worse, I'll bring you back inside."

Arthur nodded as he sat on one of the chairs and lit his cigarette, then passed it to Albert after a few drags, taking out his journal. He began to write about the gallery fight and his strange illness, only looking up when the cigarette was passed back to him. He met Albert's eyes and saw how much he was restraining the question, how much effort it took not to ask.

"Okay, fine." Arthur flicked through his journal, then showed Albert the drawing he'd done of Valentine. "Don't laugh."

Albert gasped softly, awe written across his features. "My goodness… Oh, this is beautiful."

"Nah, just a doodle." Arthur shrugged, turning to his sketch of Rhodes parlour house. "Just do 'em to keep my mind right."

"Well, if you consider these to be 'doodles', I would adore to see something you pour your passion into." Albert's hands twitched, like he wanted to snatch the journal and devour every page, but Arthur snapped it shut and put it away. "...Would you allow me to pay you for some of your work?"

Arthur propped his feet up on the balcony, massaging his stomach with one hand, holding his cigarette in the other. "What, like, a portrait of you?" He asked. "I mean, I have drawn you a few times, I got practise."

Albert's eyes were wide and he leant closer. "You…you have?"

Nodding, the outlaw threw his dead cigarette butt over the edge of the balcony, licking his chapped lips. "I mean, you are kinda funny lookin'." He paused. "Eye-catching. I meant eye-catching."

"Oh, I am funny looking, I'll admit that." Albert rose to his feet and held out a hand to Arthur, guiding him back to the bed with care. "Now, would you like to borrow some pyjamas?"

Arthur shook his head as he began to unbutton his vest. "Nah, I doubt they'd fit. I mean, my arms are at least three times as wide as yours."

Averting his eyes, Albert pretended to be interested in the photographs on his table while Arthur stripped down to his union suit. "My, aren't we insulting tonight? Funny looking, feeble arms, next you'll be telling me my personality has a glaring flaw."

"Well, you are a bit of a mother hen." Arthur smirked as he climbed into bed, suddenly feeling awake. He didn't want to sleep, he wanted to be outside, drink the thick humid air. "I guess that's a good thing though."  
Albert tried not to grin too much as he got a spare blanket from the cupboard. Arthur raised a brow at him. "Wait, if this is your bed, then where…?"

"Oh, I'm on the sofa. Don't you fret. It's quite comfortable."

Arthur frowned a little. "This bed is big enough for us both, just hop up here."

Albert's face went bright red. "I… in bed? With you? Really?"

"I'm not asking you to marry me, it's just bunking together. Can't count how many times I've slept in the same bed as my friends."

The photographer hesitated, still blushing, but he eventually changed into his pyjamas and sidled into bed beside Arthur, his body stiff like there was a wasp in the room. Arthur offered him a small smile by way of thanks, then turned onto his side away from Albert, sighing deeply. It was strange, being in Albert's bed. With him. But they were friends, it didn't matter.  
He only hoped he felt better by the morning so he didn't have to take up more of Albert's time. There was nothing Arthur hated more than being a burden.

_**I drink from the** _   
_**maiden and I live** _   
_**again in the dead.** _   
_**The heart of the** _   
_**ring of blood.** _

Arthur awoke to find Albert staring at him. He didn't have time to appreciate how the morning sun played on his auburn curls, as it hurt worse than the day before. He was surprised to see tears in his eyes, and he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, his voice coming out as a rasp.

"...You clung to me in your sleep and I didn't want to wake you so I went with it. But when I laid my head on your chest, you…" His lip wobbled slightly. "You didn't have a heartbeat. I thought you'd died. But then you pulled me closer and I almost…"

A little embarrassed that he'd snuggled up to Albert in his sleep, Arthur shifted away from him slightly, his head pounding. "I'm good, I'm okay." He winced against the morning and asked Albert to close the shutters, so glad when the room was immersed in shadow. Taking two fingers, he checked his own pulse. Nothing. He checked his wrist. Nothing.  
"Hm. No heartbeat." That was certainly strange.

Albert fumbled for his clothes, his usual emerald vest and boater. "I'll fetch the doctor right away! Just stay there, and don't move around too much!" He fretted, pulling his boots on before realising they were on the wrong feet and swearing to himself. "I'll be back soon!" He shouted over his shoulder, and then Arthur was alone.

He was so thirsty, but the water beside the bed didn't make a dent in it. Closing his eyes, he exhaled, wondering what was wrong with him.

Arthur was so hungry. Starving. Ravenous. He could smell food. A banquet. It was laid out in front of him; succulent meat, perfectly baked bread, vegetables so green they made all other colours seem grey. He picked up a bread roll and bit into it, the crunch of the crust and softness of the middle heavenly and divine. He looked down at the part in his hand. The middle of it was black, maggots crawling out of it and onto his hand, beginning to worm their way under his skin.

He screamed, making Albert and the doctor jump with fright. Albert took his hand from his shoulder, frowning. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"No, it's okay, I just…" Arthur trailed off and sat up against the pillows, and the doctor reached into his bag, rummaging around.

"Mr Mason explained a few of your symptoms to me, but I have to listen to your heart myself, so please undo your top button." He put on his stethoscope and placed the bell against his chest, pausing. "...Well, I'll be. You should be dead, Mr Morgan."

Arthur chuckled quietly. "Heard that before."

The doctor didn't laugh, taking his temperature with a raised brow. “That is very odd. Let me just…” He pulled a syringe from his bag and Arthur held out his arm, wincing slightly as it was pushed into his skin. When it was pulled away, he watched his blood drip from the end. It was dark, almost black, more like ink than blood. “...Hm. So, no pulse, low temperature, black blood… You can’t eat either.” He rubbed his chin with a slight frown, wracking his brain. “Anything else?”

Arthur thought about it. “Well, sunlight hurts. Like poison ivy, I guess.” He saw Albert’s worried expression and offered him a small smile. “Is there anything I can eat, doc? I’m really hungry.”

The doctor began to pack his equipment away, taking out a notepad. “I’d advise something like oatmeal or toast, nothing too rich. Just eat until you can keep it down.” He turned the page, hissing slightly as the paper cut his finger. “But the best thing for you is rest…”

The doctor’s voice faded into nothingness as Arthur watched the papercut bead with blood. The smell was intoxicating, and his mouth watered, his pupils dilating. Hunger. Painful, cloying hunger. His vision went red, and he couldn’t feel his own body. The grating thirst in his throat was soothed by warmth, the flavour in his mouth sweet and welcome. He hummed, closing his eyes as he drank, smiling to himself.  
“Arthur! Oh, my Lord, Arthur!”

A little annoyed at being interrupted, he looked up at Albert. Then he realised he was on the floor. On top of the doctor. The man’s eyes were staring sightlessly, his face stretched in a picture of fear. His neck was open, and Arthur realised the sweet, perfect flavour on his tongue was blood. “What… What happened?”

Albert was pressed against the wall, panicked and shaky. “You killed him! You’re drinking his blood!”

Arthur rested his weight on the doctor’s corpse, looking down at his own hands. “...What’s wrong with me?” He mumbled. “Is this a symptom? I…” He froze. Rolling up his sleeve, he looked at where he’d been bitten. What had been scabs the day before seemed to be just silvery lines with the vague imprint of teeth. “The vampire.” He muttered. “No, no, he was just a lunatic. This has to be psychosemantic.”

"Psychosomatic." Albert corrected in a tiny voice. “You were bitten by a vampire? Why didn’t you say?!”

“Vampires don’t exist!” Arthur stood up, wiping his mouth, watching Albert press closer against the wall. He felt so much better, his head no longer hurting, his gaunt features filling out a little. As he moved to get a rag from his satchel, he glanced at the mirror, and paused. His reflection was there, but it was faded, like an overexposed photograph. He waved a hand in front of the mirror, his eyes wide as he saw Albert slowly and nervously come up behind him from through his chest. “...vampires don’t… they don’t exist.”

Albert turned him around and slowly cupped his face like he was ready to draw back any second, lifting his top lip with his thumbs. “You have fangs! Fangs! Look!” Arthur looked at himself in the mirror, seeing how sharp his teeth were. “Oh, Jesus…” He backed away a few paces, holding his head in his hands. “You killed him. You drank his blood.”

Arthur looked at the corpse on Albert’s floor and frowned, guilt twisting in his stomach. “...Alright, okay… I might be a vampire. Maybe.” He muttered. “I won’t hurt you, Albert. I promise.”

“He’s dead.” Albert whispered, sliding down the wall, crumpling into a heap. “Good Lord…”

He hated seeing Albert like that, and he sighed. “Okay, listen. I’ll deal with the body, and I’ll clean up. But I need a favour from you.” He crouched down beside Albert, seeing him flinch away. He rested his hand on Albert’s shoulder gently, rubbing his thumb in a circle, trying to still his trembles. “I need you to take a letter to Clements Point near Rhodes and give it to Charles Smith. Okay?”

Albert scrubbed at his eyes, sniffling. “How are you so calm about this?” He asked with a waver in his voice.

“Sorry to tell you this but this ain’t the first time I’ve killed someone.” The way he looked at him broke his heart. “I’m an outlaw, Al. But I don’t kill innocent people. I don’t kill anyone in cold blood.” He looked at the corpse with a sigh. “This was an accident.”

“...I think I understand.” Albert whispered. “Write your letter, I’ll deliver it.” His legs shook as he tried to stand and Arthur helped him up carefully. “What are you going to do with…?” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his mouth.

Arthur looked back at the doctor. “I think I’ll finish eating, that’ll make it easier to move him.”

Albert looked green as he fetched Arthur a pen and paper. “Please wait until I’m not here.”

“Of course.” Arthur said, beginning to write down everything he could without sounding like he was drunk. He sealed the envelope then passed it to Albert. “Hey, uh… Thank you. For everything.” He scratched the back of his neck, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll leave after I deal with this and I won’t bother you again.”

Stepping forward, Albert held his arm with a nervous smile. “It may take me a while to get over this, but I do still want to be your friend. As long as you keep your teeth away from me."

His smile was wide and stained red, and he thanked Albert again as he left, relief in his chest. He wondered why that made him so happy. The smell of the blood snapped him out of it, however, and as soon as he heard Albert’s horse retreating down the street, he dropped to his knees to finish his meal, each gulp making him feel more and more like himself.


	2. Corpse

A vampire. Albert never would have thought something like that could exist, but the evidence was overwhelming. No pulse, the thirst for blood, the razor sharp teeth. It made his guts do somersaults. Hurried, he rode as fast as his mare would let him, the letter safe in his pocket. He wasn't sure about travelling to this secluded place which, he could only imagine, would be full of outlaws. But Arthur had trusted him to help him, and he was a man of his word.

It was early afternoon when he found the winding path twisting its way through the trees, and he was halfway down it when he heard the cock of a gun and a gruff voice that made him shudder.  
"Who's there?!"

Albert dismounted and raised his arms, swallowing hard. The man with the gun looked positively terrifying, and Albert hoped he wasn't who he was looking for. "I-I'm a friend of Arthur Morgan. I'm looking for Charles Smith, I've got a message for him."

The man looked skeptical. "Why the hell couldn't Arthur come himself?"

"He's a little…indisposed at the moment. But I'm unarmed, I don't want any trouble." Albert gave a twirl, just to show he didn't have any holsters.

"Hm… Come on then. No funny business." He gestured his rifle toward the tents through the trees, and Albert began to walk in front of him, a little jittery as the camp came into view. The man peered around with a scowl, then waved an arm toward someone else. "Charles! C'mere."

The person who approached was equally as scary as the first one, but in a different way. He seemed quiet and calculating, taller than everyone he walked past as he looked Albert up and down. "Who is this, Bill?"

"Arthur's friend. He's got somethin' for you apparently." The man, Bill, shrugged and walked back to his post.

Albert was set at ease when Charles gave him a small smile. "Well, any friend of Arthur's is a friend of mine, Mr…?"

"Mason. Albert Mason." He took the letter from his pocket and passed it to Charles. "Mr Morgan is not very well right now. I don't know how much the letter will explain."

Charles's brow furrowed and he opened the envelope, scanning over the letter. "Hm. He says he needs me." Whistling for his horse, Charles mounted her. "Take me to him."

Albert nodded, walking to his own mare, and the pair began to ride. "What did the letter say?" Albert asked, glancing at Charles. He seemed the type of company Arthur would've liked to keep; sturdy and stoic, soft of voice and strong of body. "If that's not prying. Don't feel as though you need to tell me, Mr Smith."

"Charles." He didn't look at Albert, his brows low with worry. "Just that he isn't well. And that he needs help disposing of a body."

"I wish I had friends that would help me hide a body." Albert gave a weak laugh, still feeling a little sick about the situation. "Well, I suppose I have Arthur. I have no doubts that he would risk prison time to help me. He's risked his life for me a number of times."

"That's Arthur." Charles said simply.

Albert felt the need to fill the silence, but he didn't want to annoy the man, so he bit his tongue.

As they reached Lemoyne, Charles stopped Taima and silently offered him some salted beef and a bread roll.  
"Oh, thank you! I hadn't realised how hungry I was, I skipped breakfast. Caring for Mr Morgan is a bigger priority than hunger, I suppose." Albert looked around at the soft grass, eager for comfort after riding for so long. "Not to be a bother, but would you mind if we rested for a while? I know I may seem like a weak city buffoon to a man like you but…" He trailed off when Charles dismounted and tethered his horse, offering a hand to Albert. It was large and warm, and he couldn't help but imagine holding it. "Oh, thank you so much. What a gentleman." Albert beamed as he settled down on the grass to eat, watching Charles take a seat beside him.

"What's happened to him?" Charles asked suddenly, and Albert swallowed his mouthful, wondering how the hell he was going to explain it.

After a moment of thought, and another bite of food, he brushed crumbs from his beard. "Well, he… Please don't think I'm being dishonest or delusional in any way, sir…"

Charles turned to face him full on, shaking his head. "I won't."

My, he was like Arthur. Albert could see the same kindness in him, behind his thick wall of stoicism. "He collapsed when at the gallery where my work was being shown. I brought him back to my apartment and…well, his heart stopped beating. I fetched a doctor for him, and he was surprised Arthur was still breathing. Then…" He looked down at his hands. "Th-Then…" His shoulders began to quiver slightly with quiet sobs, and he was about to apologise when he felt a large, warm hand at his back.

"Take your time." Charles mumbled, his voice so deep it made Albert's hair stand on end.

Albert composed himself, taking out his hanky and drying his eyes. "He attacked the doctor like a wild animal. His eyes were so ferocious, as if he was feral." He couldn't help his voice shaking. "He rip-ripped out his throat and he drank his blood."

Charles's eyes were wide. "He _what?_ "

"Please believe me, I could hardly…I mean he's been nothing but kind to me, but…" The weight of the events of the morning shook him, and he put his head in his hands, trying to calm himself. He felt strong arms around him and gasped softly as Charles squeezed him with care, giving his back a gentle pat. "I just want to get him help."

"I understand. And I believe you." Charles muttered, before standing and sighing heavily. "What are we going to do?"

He didn't know. He had no idea how to help him. Arthur was seemingly dead and reanimated, and he'd murdered someone who was helping him. "Well, the first thing would be to hide the body, but… I'm not sure."

Charles didn't speak again until they were back on the road, at which point he offered Albert a reassuring smile. "What do you do?" He asked, trying to steer the conversation to something happier.

Albert blew his nose on his handkerchief, trying not to sound too disgusting. "I'm a photographer." He began to explain to Charles how he wished to save the animals of this great land from over hunting, and if only a few of them were spared, it would be worth the work. "Arthur has done so much to help with my project, and he's saved me countless times from the jaws of some animal or another. I want to return the favour."

"He must like you." That comment made Albert flush, and he tried to calm his fluttering heart. "I, too, wish people would stop slaughtering wildlife. Your work is admirable."

"Thank you, sir." He was coming to like Charles more and more. It was with a slight jolt that he realised he really did have a type; strong and kind. Now he knew two outlaws who fit the bill.

They hitched their horses outside the apartment complex when the sun was kissing the horizon, and Albert brushed down his vest, trying to calm himself, before seeing what he assumed would be carnage inside.

_**With one long kiss** _  
_**I draw the life** _  
_**from her and await** _  
_**the outpost of** _  
_**advancing day** _

Arthur felt bad. Really bad. He sort of wished he still had the sensation of death hanging over him as he lifted the stiff and dessicated corpse of the doctor and wrapped him in a bed linen. He hoped Albert wouldn't mind too much. Setting the corpse by the door, he felt a new sense of strength, his body humming with life. But it was the life of another. Stolen.  
He made sure to clean the dark spot on Albert's floor, scrubbing it hard until he left a clean patch amongst the trodden in grime.

Many a man had cowered before him, many of them had died at his hands. But seeing Albert so afraid of him was worse than the sick feeling he'd had before he'd killed. He wondered why it bothered him so much as he began to tidy Albert's apartment, not realising he was doing it until he was halfway through changing his bedsheets. On an impulse, he lifted the old ones to his nose and inhaled. It was almost if he could see him, laid there, peacefully sleeping.  
A new smell came to his nostrils, and he raised a brow, supposing heightened senses came with the package. He recognised it as Charles, and he waited for him, only realising when he heard feet on the stairs that his union suit was still stained with blood. He pulled it down from his shoulders and used a rag to clean his chest of dried blood, not wanting to look too much like the murderer he was.

Albert opened the door, and blinked at how tidy it was with a smile. "Arthur? Are you alri--..." He froze when he saw his bare chest, going bright red, glued to the floor.

Charles sidled around him, not seeming at all flustered by Arthur's lack of clothes. "Arthur. Albert filled me in." He said, stepping close and looking deep into Arthur's eyes. "How are you feeling?"

Arthur was nonchalant as he threw the rag away. "Like I can run miles, spit fire. Before, I was really sick, but now I've eaten I feel wonderful." He scratched the back of his neck, sitting down on a nearby chair. "I feel really bad about this, Charles."

"You couldn't help it." Charles put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tight. "Jesus, you're cold."

"Vampire…" Arthur whispered to himself. "What am I gonna do?"

Charles was quiet as he looked around for Albert, only to find he wasn't there. He reappeared after a moment with a shirt for Arthur, passing it to him. "Here. It might be a bit small, but it's the largest one I have."

Wearing Albert's clothes? It made him feel fluttery. He pulled it on, and it was very tight around his arms, the bottom buttons fastening, but the top four were a few inches off, so he left them open. "Thanks. You don't need it back, do you? I get the feeling it might split when I move."

"Oh, I have plenty more." He walked toward the window and peered through the crack between the shutters. "Not long until sunset. Charles, would you care for anything?"

"I'd love some coffee." Charles smiled, then turned to Arthur when Albert moved to the kitchen. "I've heard of vampires before, just as legends, but I've also heard of a cure." He pulled up a chair beside him. "I'll look into it. Until then, I suggest you eat every night."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "I can't." He mumbled. "It feels wrong."

Warm fingers curled around his own, and Arthur looked up at Charles. "People have been drinking human blood for as long as people have had blood to drink. The fact that you're so worried about it shows me you don't have anything to worry about." He squeezed his hand tightly. "There are plenty of awful people out there that you would've killed anyway. Why not take advantage of what you have?"

Charles always had a habit of making Arthur feel better, and he was so glad they were friends. He nodded, still holding his hand as Albert returned with a tray. He didn't notice the lingering look at their hands, but they both pulled away as Albert set the tray down and began to pour out a cup each for him and Charles.

"Dunno where I'm gonna stay during the day. My tent is open and I think I'd blister somethin' rotten if I slept there." He supposed he could try to find somewhere dark to sleep, perhaps a basement somewhere. The Compson house had a nice dark cellar he could hide away in.

Albert cleared his throat. "Well, as long as you don't kill anyone here again, you can stay with me. I'll be at the photography studio during the day, so you can have my bed."

Arthur blinked with surprise. "Really? Even after all this?"

Nodding, Albert smiled. "We're friends, are we not? Friends help each other."

The soft expression on his face made Charles quirk a brow, and he thanked Albert as he played with his shirt buttons, smiling to himself.

After the tea, and when the streets were dark, Charles picked up the body in the linen, commenting on how light it was considering it was drained of blood. He checked the coast was clear, straining his ears for any signs of activity, before motioning Arthur downstairs with him.

Arthur bid Albert goodbye, then followed, Charles tying the body on the back of Taima. As they rode east, sticking to dark roads and darker alleys, Arthur exhaled softly. "Jesus, what a mess."

With a hum, Charles looked at him. "It's only temporary, I'm sure."

"What if it ain't? What if I'm like this forever?" Arthur grumbled. "Can't feel the sun on my skin, can't eat chocolate or drink whiskey…"

"Good point, but think of what you can do now." He spurred Taima into a canter as the vague smog of the city turned into the humid stench of the swampland. "You have to test yourself, get a feel for your limits. Then who knows what you could do?"

Heightened sense of smell was definitely one of his new…powers? It felt pretentious calling them powers. And as Charles leant back to stop his horse beside a gator lair, Arthur noticed that without the thump of hooves, he could hear Charles's heart. Slow. Calm.  
The body of the doctor was thoroughly enjoyed by the alligators, and Arthur watched the rippling water with a frown, silent.

A large, sodden log caught his eye, and he had the urge to test the limits of his newfound strength, rolling up a sleeve. His arm sank into the mud, and he gripped a thick root, lifting the log with one hand, a resounding slurp and patter of falling slime being heard. He gasped, shocked, holding something that would've taken five men to lift in one hand like it was nothing.  
"Well, guess we know you're strong." Charles only just reigned in how impressed he was. "Are you fast too?"

Arthur dropped the log with a wet thump. "I don't know. Lemme see." The only time he'd travelled as fast was on an arabian, and he whooped, having to hold onto his hat as he raced around the field with long strides, almost a blur. It was so freeing, almost like flying. He didn't even feel tired when he stopped beside Charles, who was clapping. "If I wasn't already a killing machine, I sure as shit am now!"

The ride back to Albert's apartment was relaxed, but Charles kept glancing at Arthur like he was formulating something to say. Eventually, he settled on it. "So…Albert seems nice."

The smile that came to Arthur's lips was small and had to be hidden behind his hat. "Yeah, he is." He watched an owl fly overhead, not wanting to meet Charles's eyes. "He's a real good friend."

"Just a friend?"

Arthur jolted slightly. If he had a heartbeat, it would've spiked. "Yes! I mean…" He gripped his reins tightly, his knuckles white. "He's sweet and kind and smart, but I killed a guy in his bedroom. Right in front of him. He probably barely even sees me as a friend anymore."

Charles nodded and didn't press further, the pair of them riding in comfortable silence until they arrived at Albert's apartment. Arthur looked up at the balcony, tilting his head. He took a step back, then leapt upward, amazed at how he managed to make the jump and land silently. He peered down at Charles and gave him a cheeky salute, which he returned. "I'm gonna head back, spin some kind of yarn to explain why you're not there. I'll be in touch about the cure."

"Okay. Stay safe, Charles."

"You too." And with that, he and Taima disappeared into the darkness.

Albert yelped when Arthur knocked on the window, hurrying over to let him in. "Ah, Mr Morgan! Did you fly? Can you turn into a bat?"

Arthur laughed, and was about to step inside, when he felt a lurch in his gut, stopping him. "Uh, no, I didn't. I just jumped." He tried to walk in again, finding his legs wouldn't move forward.

"Come inside, I'll make you some tea-- Oh, yes, of course. Sorry."

Strange. He entered easily after that. "Hang on… I have to be invited into homes? That's one hell of a drawback."

"Well, you're always welcome in here." Albert ushered him in to sit on the sofa with him, sitting close enough that their knees touched. "Did you find anything out about your abilities?" He asked, eyes sparkling with eagerness.

"Yeah. I'm strong, I'm fast, better smell and hearing. Don't think I can turn into a bat or fly." Not that he'd really want that anyway, that was a bit overkill.

"Have you read Dracula by Bram Stoker? It came out two years ago, it's very good. Very scary." Albert reached for the book on the table and Arthur almost chuckled when he realised he'd been reading it as though it were non-fiction. He nodded and Albert continued. "He sustains himself with blood, just like you. I doubt you're as powerful, since he made a deal with the devil. But do make sure you stay away from the sun, silver, stakes, crosses, holy water…"

Arthur took the book from Albert's hands. "Al, this is just a story. Might be some parallels but I doubt Mr Stoker knows many vampires personally."

The sound of his heartbeat speeding up and the sight of his pink cheeks made Arthur both happy and hungry, but he pushed the latter feeling down with a firm hand. Albert wasn't a meal. He was his friend. "Of course, of course. Forgive me, I was just attempting to find some answers."

Albert began to get tired around midnight and Arthur made him get into bed, not wanting him to be late for work the next morning. It would be hard not seeing him as often, but he supposed it couldn't be helped.  
"Mr Morgan?" Albert peered around the door at him. "If it's not too much of a bother, I don't suppose we could go somewhere tomorrow night? I've always wanted to take a look at the nocturnal creatures in the bayou, but I am very much afraid of the Night Folk."

"Guess that'd be okay." Arthur said, closing Dracula with his finger as a bookmark. "As long as you don't stop me from eating."

Albert paled slightly, but he swallowed hard, waving a dismissive hand. "If it's someone trying to kill us, I'm sure it would be fine. As long as we don't go looking for trouble."

"Alright. Though, in my experience, trouble seems to find you quite easily." Arthur opened the book again, pausing only to wish Albert goodnight.

"Goodnight Mr Morgan. Don't stay up too late." He said with a wink, retreating back into his room, leaving Arthur wondering about the strange feeling in his stomach.


	3. Blood

They didn't take their horses. They didn't need them. They didn't want them. The walk through the empty streets was calming for Albert, and Arthur could hear his slow pulse, glad he wasn't afraid.   
Arthur had insisted earlier that Albert take some money after buying him some new clothes at the tailor, but he'd refused. He had said he already had a lot of money, and wouldn't dream of taking it from the man who had saved his life. He'd bought some clothes for himself too, which made Arthur wonder, as he looked less like he was adventuring into dangerous territory and more like he was going somewhere formal. He wore a crisp blue shirt under a grey vest, and a sharp black jacket, complete with an azure puff tie. Arthur supposed he just liked being fancy. 

Their silence was relaxed as they both drank in the night, but when they reached the edge of the city, the Lannahechee River to their right, Albert peered up at the stars with a soft sigh.   
"I always forget how beautiful it is out here." He mumbled, keeping his footing steady as he crunched through the sandy dirt. "It amazes me every time."

Arthur looked up too, humming to himself. "I ain't lived indoors for decades. It's nothin' new for me." 

"I take it your gang travels a lot?" Albert asked as he picked up a stone from the beach and skimmed it over the water. It skipped four times before sinking, leaving ripples in the dark glass-like surface. "Running from the law must take its toll on you."

"Yeah. Pretty exhausting, never knowing if you're gonna see the next sunrise." Arthur paused, scanning the eastern horizon. "I wonder if I will see one again."

Albert placed a hand on his forearm gently. "I'm sure you will. Even if we don't find a cure, I'll take photographs for you. I'll commission paintings for you."

Arthur furrowed his brow. "You will?" He asked in a tiny voice. 

"Of course! I don't think I could live without the sun, I would like to make this as easy as possible for you." He kept walking, and Arthur watched him for a moment, head swimming with barely coherent thoughts, before he trotted to catch up. 

Albert began to ramble on about wildlife, in that way that always captivated Arthur. He was so intelligent, so loquacious, and extremely interesting. However, a sudden noise made the hair on the back of Arthur's neck stand on end, and he rushed at Albert, making him yelp and flinch. Curling a strong arm around his waist, he lifted him like he weighed nothing, almost throwing him onto the grass away from the beach. He got him out of the way just as an alligator clamped its jaws around Arthur's leg, snarling and trying to drag him down into a death roll, only to find he was far too sturdy. Arthur didn’t really feel the fangs deep in his flesh, and almost grinned at the beast’s feeble attempts to eat him.  
"Mr Morgan!" Albert cried, watching with fear and awe as Arthur grabbed the gator's jaws and pried them open, shoving it back into the water with a strength that rivalled a god. The offended reptile hissed and retreated, leaving Arthur standing there with bared fangs. 

"Oh my! Oh, dear… You saved my idiotic skin once again! Although I may bruise, but that is better than being devoured." Albert rushed over to Arthur, crouching in front of him to inspect his leg. However, as he rolled his trousers up, he watched as the teeth marks slowly closed themselves, leaving only hairy skin with no indication he’d ever been bitten. "Goodness…"

Arthur tapped Albert's shoulder. "C'mon, let's get away from here before you become Albert gumbo."

“He was very eager to eat you. I’m amazed you healed almost immediately! You truly are a spectacle.” Albert smiled, stepping up to balance on the rails of the train track. Normally, he wouldn’t have been as stupid as to play on them, but he was sure Arthur could stop a speeding train with his brute strength. 

As they walked, Arthur pointed out many animals and plants to Albert. The pair knew a lot of information between them; Albert knew things from textbooks, Arthur from experience. Together, they made a well of knowledge that was whole.   
“They can’t choose when they play dead, you know.” Albert said, crouching over the opossum that had flopped over as they walked past. “It’s an involuntary reaction triggered by fear. But do you smell that putrid odour?”

“Yeah, I can smell it.”

Albert stood, wrinkling his nose. “They secrete a substance from their anus to make them less appetising to animals that would eat carrion.”

Arthur laughed, leading the way into the swamps. “Well, you live and learn. Never saw myself as a vampire, walking into Night Folk territory, discussing ‘possum anuses, but I guess anything is possible.” 

The moon shone down through the mossy trees, making the green of the swamps seem more blue, sparkling across the water. A cool breeze cut through the humid heat, and Arthur sighed happily as he hopped up on a log, easily balancing on it. He saw Albert fumbling in his bag, and watched him open a bottle of something that he instantly recognised as lavender from the smell. He rubbed a little of the liquid on his neck, and Arthur raised a brow.   
“You already smell good, you don’t need that.”

“I do?” Albert seemed surprised, blinking up at Arthur. “A-Ah, this isn’t for making me smell good, it’s to keep the mosquitos at bay. They don’t usually like the smell of lavender.”

“Hope it isn’t for keeping me away too.” Arthur snickered as he jumped up to grab onto a tree branch, easily holding his own weight as he swung back and forth. “Not that I need keeping away.”

“Of course not, I trust you, Mr Morgan.” Albert watched him with an expression of awe, clearly very impressed with the new Arthur. 

He dropped down with a muddy squelch as they kept walking. A glow passed Arthur's periphery and his hand shot out, closing around the firefly, the soft light filtering between his fingers. He opened his fist in front of Albert's face, and the insect stayed perched on his palm for a moment, the buzzing yellow reflected in Albert's wonderstruck hazel. After a few seconds, it took flight, moseying back over the swamps. "That's one thing I'll miss about this place." Arthur muttered. "They're real pretty, ain't they?" 

"Positively radiant. I would love to lay under the stars one night without fear of death, fireflies illuminating the landscape." Albert watched another fly past with a faraway look. 

Arthur shrugged. "I can help with that. Well, the not fearing death part anyway." He nudged Albert with that lopsided smile he sported when around him. "You could bring a picnic, I'll bring a jar to catch some of 'em in. Might make for a good photo."

Albert seemed enchanted at the idea. "And I suppose I'll serve as your picnic?" He joked softly, only for Arthur to squeeze his shoulder, making him turn around. 

"I ain't gonna hurt you. Ever." Arthur all but growled, his fangs catching the moonlight. "I mean, yeah, you smell pretty damn tasty, and I am real hungry, but even if I was emaciated and you was covered in ketchup..."

"...Ketchup?" 

"You know what I mean." He grunted. "Oh, hey, I know something interesting around here. You wanna see?" 

Albert was still spinning a little from Arthur's forceful insistence that he was safe with him, but he nodded, keeping step with him as they trudged through the mud. "...thank you. For reassuring me." He hurried to add, "--not that I needed it! I feel perfectly safe. You tend to have that effect on people, I suppose."

"Yeah, those I ain't killin'." He grumbled. After a while, Arthur gestured ahead, and Albert gasped as he spotted the tiny church sequestered in the swamp. "Ain't it dinky?" 

Albert quickly trotted over to inspect it, crouching to touch the walls and windows with piqued interest. "Oh my! This is wonderful! Can I go inside?" 

Arthur nodded. "Sure. Just mind there ain't a snake in there."

After a check and a double check, Albert ducked inside the church, and Arthur squatted to watch him through the window, seeing how Albert marvelled at the architecture. "My, I've always wanted to feel this tall! I wonder who this was for?" He asked, perching on one of the pews, his knees up to his chest. 

"Maybe someone heard about 'possum anuses and thought they needed confession."

The laugh that came from inside warmed Arthur's dead, cold chest. He held onto the sight of Albert's face, wanting to sketch it when they returned home. 

A scent reached his nostrils. A human scent. He shushed Albert's laugh, as much as it pained him to do so, and stood up. "Night Folk." He whispered. "Stay here."

Albert was entirely silent as Arthur stared ahead through the trees, seeing two men, both smeared in swamp mud and white paint. Both of them held knives, which Arthur was thankful for, as arrows may have been too much like stakes. The taller one hissed and chittered at him, stalking forward with his knife outstretched. Now these people Arthur didn't mind killing. He'd seen what they were capable of, what they did to innocent people, and if he could save even one person, it would be worth it. 

His reflexes were quick as he dodged the knife that glinted in the soft light, grabbing the man's head in two hands and twisting his neck with a little more strength than he intended. He grimaced when the head came away in his hands, and he dropped it with a slight shudder. 

The other man seemed to take pause, having just seen his friend decapitated so easily. However, he didn't have time to decide to run. The smell of the blood made Arthur see red once again, but this time he had conviction behind his actions. He sprang toward him, knocking him to the dirt, plunging his fangs into his neck in one swift movement. 

Arthur's strength far overpowered the man's feeble struggles as he drained him. He felt a sharp pain in his back, and realised with no more than an irate grunt that he'd been stabbed. It didn't stop him, still drinking from him. He tasted differently to the doctor, not as rich, a little dirtier, but blood was blood. The man eventually fell still, and Arthur kept drinking, feeling himself becoming stronger and stronger with each gulp. 

"Are they gone?" Albert's voice quivered as he stepped around the headless corpse, a slight retch coming from him, but he swallowed it down, looking toward Arthur. "Oh, my! You've been stabbed!" He trotted closer, hesitant to touch Arthur since he was feeding, but he cringed and wrapped his fingers around the knife, counting to three then yanking it out, throwing it aside. 

Arthur barely made a sound, but after a moment, he sat up, mouth dripping with blood. "Thank you." He smiled as he stood up, licking his lips. "Sorry, I guess this is kinda gross, especially if you're squeamish."

"N-No, it's fine. Let me just…" Albert used his handkerchief to wipe Arthur's face, leaving him with just muddy, gore-stained clothes. "There. Much better."

Lifting a corpse in each hand, Arthur threw them into the swamp for the gators, then turned back to Albert, dusting off his hands. "Thank you for letting me eat while you're here. I know it must be disgusting to you."

Albert nodded, seeming a little green. "Well, you have to do it, I suppose. And better them than someone innocent."

He was surprised at how well Albert was taking this, and as they kept strolling along, he wondered if there was another reason beyond friendship. 

A gorgeous smell caught Arthur's attention, and he followed his nose, pushing some plants out of the way to find it. A single queen's orchid, not a petal damaged, was growing from the mud. He picked it, turning to hold it up to Albert. "Look what I found."

"Oh!" Albert leant closer to it, scrutinising it with excitement, giving it a sniff and humming. "How wonderful! What a nice surprise, finding something so beautiful in such a place as this." He glanced at Arthur, at his soft expression of affection, at the way he held the delicate flower as though offering him the world. 

Arthur wiped his dirty hands on his jeans then gently tucked the orchid into Albert's lapel. "There. Looks real pretty."  
Albert couldn't take his gaze off Arthur, the pale of his skin glowing in the moonlight, his eyes glimmering like stars, and the cowboy raised an eyebrow at him. “...What?” He asked, wondering why Albert was staring at him. “Is there something on my face?”

Going pink, Albert shook his head. “I’m sorry. You just look almost ethereal. Like a ghost." He looked down, kicking his feet in the dirt. "Forgive me if this is forward, but I really admire you, Mr Morgan. Don't give me your usual 'you don't know me' spiel, because I do." Looking back up, he met eyes with Arthur. "I can't think of anybody else I'd want to spend time with."

"Oh." Arthur could've sworn he felt his heart beat, if only once, and he swallowed thickly. "I… I like spending time with you too." His fingers twitched nervously, and he held out a hand to Albert, wanting to feel his soft skin on his calloused palm. 

Albert looked down at it, a small smile playing on his lips as he reached his own hand out. Their fingers brushed, and Arthur once again felt his heart beat, like electricity was jolting through him, making him alive again. Making him human. 

Arthur didn't hear the gunshot, the bullet clean through his forehead. He didn't hear Albert scream. He didn't feel his body crumpling on the ground, or Albert clutching his shoulders, shaking him. He didn't see hands grabbing Albert and taking him away, leaving Arthur laid motionless in the mud, bleeding ink, cold as ice.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment! :)


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